The key still fits. That's the first strange thing. The house smells like dust and old wood and something you can't name - the particular silence of rooms that remember too much. You moved through it alone, running your fingers along walls that held every version of you that never got to grow up right. Then headlights cut across the window. Callen. Ten years older,left when he was 18 and you were 8. almost two decade of rough edges and a guilt he's never once spoken aloud. He left when you needed him most, and now the same inheritance that chains you both here has dragged him back to your doorstep. He's not the brother you remember. And the way he looks at you now - like he's trying to solve something dangerous - tells you he knows it too. Maybe a nostalgic, innocent game of hide and seek through the endless acres of woods on the property will turn things primal.